


Would You Still Love Me?

by SweetSinger2010



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:44:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSinger2010/pseuds/SweetSinger2010
Summary: Hera's heart ached to think of her baby growing up; for now, she was selfishly glad he was still small enough for things like this, for cuddles in bed and piggy-back rides and silly games.





	Would You Still Love Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Pure, unashamed Mommy Hera/Jacen fluff. If you read this and wonder why they're not on the Ghost, this fic exists in my fuzzy headcanon where Hera and Jacen settle down after the Battle of Endor as the New Republic is established. Also posted on ff.net and tumblr.

Would You Still Love Me?

Hera knew the days were coming when her son would be too “cool” for her. Eventually, he wouldn’t want to give her butterfly kisses, or hold her hand in public, or have her tuck him in at night. He wouldn’t need her to help him get dressed or do his hair or pour his cereal in the morning. But for now, Jacen was just five and she was still his hero and he still loved to throw his arms around her waist and walk with his feet on top of her feet and he still loved to tell her his secrets and cuddle with her in the mornings and that all suited her just fine.

They were snuggled up together in her bed one lazy weekend evening, Hera doing some pleasure-reading on her data-pad, Jacen stretched out sideways on the bed, head resting comfortably on her stomach. He had his hands raised in the air, twisting and turning and _whooshing_ and _zooming_ them through the invisible dangers of the space battle in his mind. All at once, one hand crashed onto the mattress with a thump, the other taking a victory lap by Hera’s nose.

“Who won?” She asked, a smile tugging at her mouth.

“The TIE,” Jacen answered severely. “He shouldn’t’a.”

“Uh oh. What happened?”

He tilted his head back, grinning. “It’s ‘cause _you_ weren’t flying the X-Wing.”

“Oh my,” she said seriously. “I’ll try and be there next time.”

He patted her knee. “I’ll be your wingman.”

“Thanks, Spectre Seven.”

He buzzed his lips, humming contentedly as he rolled to a new position, flopped out on his belly, chin resting in his hands, legs bent at the knees and swinging freely. “Mama?”

“Jacen?” She echoed his tone and set her datapad aside, giving him her full attention.

“Would you still love me if I didn’t grow up and be a pilot?”

Hera almost jolted, shocked by the seriousness of the question. “I will _always_ love you, _keella,_ ” she answered immediately, firmly. She heard the Twi’leki endearment fall from her lips, one her mother used to use. “No matter what.” She paused. “What _do_ you want to be when you grow up?”

He peered at her through long, dark lashes, eyes lit in a mischievous smile. “A pilot. I just wanted to double-check.”

“Aha.”

He shoved his hands through his hair, causing it to stick up wildly. “Would you still love me if I looked like this?”

“You _do_ look like that,” she pointed out, suppressing a wide smile. “Right now.”

“But all the time if I looked like that.”

“I’d still love you.”

“What about…” He trailed off, thinking. Then he popped up, sitting on his knees. “What if I did this?” He crossed his eyes and puffed his cheeks.

Hera laughed at the ridiculous expression. “I’d still love you. Now…what if _I_ did that?” She copied the look, sending him into fits of giggles. “Would _you_ still love _me?_ ”

“Yes. What if I talked _like this?_ ” He modulated his voice to something high and squeaky. “Would you still love me?”

Hera cleared her throat, pitching a deep, low rumble. “Yes, but only if _you_ would love me if I talked like this.”

“Yeah,” he gasped, laughing. “I’d still love you, mama. But don’t try and sing like that, though. Would you love me if I shaved off all my hair?”

Her eyes widened, horrified at the thought, and she scrambled to think of something equally horrific to ask in return. She pulled a lek over one shoulder, fingering one of the circular patterns tattooed there. “What if I had my tattoos re-done bright purple? Would you still love me?”

Jacen froze, face scrunched in disgust as he evaluated her lekku. “Yeees,” he said slowly, “but don’t.”

She stuck out her hand. “Keep your hair on your head and we have a deal.”

“Deal.” They shook on it. Then he shot her a sly look. “Would you still love me if I said I said I wanted a snack?”

“Hmm.” She stroked her chin, pretending to consider. “That depends. What are you hungry for?”

“Something sweet,” he said matter-of-factly, “but cheese toast is good.”

She nodded. “Cheese toast. Good answer.” She swung her legs off the bed. “Come on,” she said over her shoulder. He wound his arms around her neck, careful not to squish her lekku, and locked his legs around her waist. She stood and walked easily with him on her back. Though he was perfectly healthy, he was just a little small for his age. No hint yet of the man he’d grow into, but Hera had been told by a pediatric med-droid that he’d likely end up as tall as Kanan. Her heart ached in a funny way to think of her baby ever getting so big; for now, she was selfishly glad he was still small enough for things like this, for cuddles in bed and piggy-back rides and silly games.

Once they got to the kitchen, she backed up against the countertop he plopped down, letting her go. “How many pieces?” She asked, getting out a baking sheet, bread, and cheese. “One or two?”

“Uhh, one and a half?”

One and a half. Hera rolled her eyes, snorting lightly. “I didn’t know you knew fractions,” she deadpanned. “And who’s going to eat the leftover half?”

 “I don’t know what ‘fractions’ _means_ , but I figured you could probably eat the rest.”

She pointed to the sink, prompting him to wash his hands as she supervised. “You did, huh? Here—dry off. Put two pieces of bread on the tray, and then cheese on top. I’ll turn on the oven.”

She turned away to turn the oven on and set the temperature, leaving him to his task. When she turned back, he’d done the job beautifully, but he was holding a piece of cheese—Corellian cheddar, their favorite—between his fingers, wiggling it. “Double cheese?” He wheedled.

She put a hand on her hip. “Last time you tried double cheese, you said it was gross and _too cheesy_ and you didn’t eat it.”

His face fell just a little and he put the cheese back in the container. “Oh yeah. You’re right.”

“I know.” She swung him down from the counter and then handed him the tray. “Want to help me get this in the oven?” He nodded an emphatic _yes_ and carefully walked it over to the oven, standing back as she opened it. “Now,” Hera said, trying not to sound anxious, “slide it in on the middle rack, but be careful—”

“Not to touch,” he finished. “I won’t get burned, mama. Don’t worry.” Face tight with concentration, he slid the tray carefully in the oven and, true to his word, did not get burned. “Now what?” He asked as she closed the oven door.

“Now we wait.”

“Can we watch it?”

“We have to keep the door closed for it to cook properly,” she explained.

“Yeah, but there’s a light inside. We can still watch it.”

“You know it won’t cook any faster with us watching, right?”

He shrugged. “It _might_ ,” he said. “I’m real hungry, mama.”

“Okay then,” she laughed, ruffling his hair. She folded herself cross-legged into the floor in front of the oven and Jacen situated himself in her lap. “We can watch.”

Between Jacen in her lap and the heat radiating from the oven, Hera felt completely cozy, warm from the inside out as the joy and comfort of this simple moment etched itself into her memory. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, his shoulder nudging her shoulder, the soft puffs of his breath as he exhaled.

He was humming quietly as he so often did and then, abruptly, his song stopped. He tilted his head back to look at her. “Mama?”

There were two ways he usually said her name when he was about to ask a question. The confident way, like when he wanted to know about hyperdrives or why some planets don’t have blue skies, and the hesitant way, like when he wanted to ask about Kanan. This was the latter.

Hera tightened her arms around him. “Yes, love?”

“Would you—would you still love me if daddy was alive?”

Hera was sure that if she’d been standing, her heart would have plummeted straight to the floor. Her lungs all but stopped working and she had to make herself breathe in before she whispered, strangled, “Jacen Caleb Syndulla, yes. _Yes_. What made you ask me something like that?”

“I dunno,” he mumbled. He picked at the hem of his shirt. “Just wondering. Bean and Zeb always say you loved him a _lot_.”

“Well…yes. I loved him very, very much. I always will.”

He nodded.

It worried Hera that his little body didn’t relax, that he was still tense deep inside. She knew him and she knew that look on his face. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out what was going on in his brain. She watched his face and the pensive way he was gnawing the inside of his lip and how his eyes looked like a turbulent sky. She gasped audibly when she realized—

 _“Jacen,”_ she said sharply, “are you asking if I would _trade_ you for daddy? To have him back?”

He looked at her, no reproach or accusation in his face. Just guarded curiosity. “Yeah, kinda.”

Moving so fast she probably made both their heads spin, Hera stood Jacen up and then crouched in front of him so they were the same height. “Listen to me.” She didn’t care that tears were sliding down her cheeks. “Never, never, _never._ I would never do that. I’ve never even wanted to.”

He was clearly skeptical. “Never?”

“No, love. No.” She took both his hands in hers and held them, fingers laced, over her empty womb. “The very first minute I knew you were growing inside me, I wanted you. I wanted to love you and hold you and fly the _Ghost_ with you and talk about ships with you and have nighttime cheese toast with you. Okay? I would never trade that. Never. Not even to have your daddy back with me.”

Jacen silently processed what she’d said and her heart thudded heavily against her ribs. She meant every word completely, without reservation, from the bottom of her heart, from the depths of her soul. Did he know that?

His slow smile and his arms winding around her neck told her that he did. She held him tightly. “I wouldn’t trade you, either,” he said, smacking a kiss on her cheek. “You’re pretty much the best mama there is. Plus, we’re a good team.”

“Yeah.” She sat back on her heels, swiping moisture off her face. “We’re a good team.” He grinned at her and she saw that whatever clouds had gathered in his mind were gone now, as quickly as they came. She saw in his eyes that he trusted her implicitly and that her word was all he needed and he’d never again wonder whether she would rather have had Kanan in her life instead. She loved that—she loved seeing that unwavering faith. She cupped his cheek. _“Keella,”_ she murmured. _Darling._ “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He glanced behind her, eyeing the oven. “But I’m still hungry.”

Hera had to bite back another Twi’leki word—this one quite foul—as she nudged Jacen aside and opened the oven door. She groaned when she saw the blackened squares that _had_ been bread and cheese. She looked at Jacen, wincing. “Would you still love me if I told you I burned our cheese toast?”

“Hmm. That depends.” He copied her words from earlier, a look on his face so comically like Kanan’s that she struggled not to burst out laughing.

“On what?” She asked as seriously as she could.

“Can we make more?”

“We can make more.”

He nodded his approval. “Then I still love you.”


End file.
